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“I love this guy!” Mikey said.“Yeah, but the boss told us he’d be loaded,” Cade complained.“Boss ” I muttered. “Boss?”“That’s right, Lester.” Cade flicked a finger against the side of my head.“‘Go to that alley,’ the boss told us. ‘Easy score.’ He said we should rough youup, take whatever you had. But this”—he waved the cash under my nose—“thisisn’t much of a payday.”Despite my predicament, I felt a surge of hopefulness. If these thugs hadbeen sent here to find me, their “boss” must be a god. No mortal could haveknown I would fall to earth at this spot. Perhaps Cade and Mikey were nothuman either. Perhaps they were cleverly disguised monsters or spirits. At leastthat would explain why they had beaten me so easily.“Who—who is your boss?” I struggled to my feet, coffee grounds dribblingfrom my shoulders. My dizziness made me feel as if I were flying too close tothe fumes of primordial Chaos, but I refused to be humbled. “Did Zeus sendyou? Or perhaps Ares? I demand an audience!”Mikey and Cade looked at each other as if to say, Can you believe this guy?Cade picked up his knife. “You don’t take a hint, do you, Lester?”Mikey pulled off his belt—a length of bike chain—and wrapped it around hisfist.I decided to sing them into submission. They may have resisted my fists, butno mortal could resist my golden voice. I was trying to decide between “YouSend Me” and an original composition, “I’m Your Poetry God, Baby,” when avoice yelled, “HEY!”The hooligans turned. Above us, on the second-story fire escape landing,stood a girl of about twelve. “Leave him alone,” she ordered.My first thought was that Artemis had come to my aid. My sister oftenappeared as a twelve-year-old girl for reasons I’d never fully understood. Butsomething told me this was not she.The girl on the fire escape did not exactly inspire fear. She was small andpudgy, with dark hair chopped in a messy pageboy style and black cat-eyeglasses with rhinestones glittering in the corners. Despite the cold, she wore nocoat. Her outfit looked like it had been picked by a kindergartener—redsneakers, yellow tights, and a green tank dress. Perhaps she was on her way to acostume party dressed as a traffic light.Still there was something fierce in her expression. She had the sameobstinate scowl my old girlfriend Cyrene used to get whenever she wrestledlions.Mikey and Cade did not seem impressed.

“Get lost, kid,” Mikey told her.The girl stamped her foot, causing the fire escape to shudder. “My alley. Myrules!” Her bossy nasal voice made her sound like she was chiding a playmate ina game of make-believe. “Whatever that loser has is mine, including hismoney!”“Why is everyone calling me a loser?” I asked weakly. The comment seemedunfair, even if I was beat-up and covered in garbage; but no one paid me anyattention.Cade glared at the girl. The red from his hair seemed to be seeping into hisface. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Beat it, you brat!” He picked up a rottenapple and threw it.The girl didn’t flinch. The fruit landed at her feet and rolled harmlessly to astop.“You want to play with food?” The girl wiped her nose. “Okay.”I didn’t see her kick the apple, but it came flying back with deadly accuracyand hit Cade in the nose. He collapsed on his rump.Mikey snarled. He marched toward the fire escape ladder, but a banana peelseemed to slither directly into his path. He slipped and fell hard. “OWWW!”I backed away from the fallen thugs. I wondered if I should make a run for it,but I could barely hobble. I also did not want to be assaulted with old fruit.The girl climbed over the railing. She dropped to the ground with surprisingnimbleness and grabbed a sack of garbage from the Dumpster.“Stop!” Cade did a sort of scuttling crab walk to get away from the girl.“Let’s talk about this!”Mikey groaned and rolled onto his back.The girl pouted. Her lips were chapped. She had wispy black fuzz at thecorners of her mouth.“I don’t like you guys,” she said. “You should go.”“Yeah!” Cade said. “Sure! Just ”He reached for the money scattered among the coffee grounds.The girl swung her garbage bag. In mid arc the plastic exploded, disgorgingan impossible number of rotten bananas. They knocked Cade flat. Mikey wasplastered with so many peels he looked like he was being attacked bycarnivorous starfish.“Leave my alley,” the girl said. “Now.”In the Dumpster, more trash bags burst like popcorn kernels, showering Cadeand Mikey with radishes, potato peelings, and other compost material.Miraculously, none of it got on me. Despite their injuries, the two thugsscrambled to their feet and ran away, screaming.

I turned toward my pint-size savior. I was no stranger to dangerous women.My sister could rain down arrows of death. My stepmother, Hera, regularlydrove mortals mad so that they would hack each other to pieces. But thisgarbage-wielding twelve-year-old made me nervous.“Thank you,” I ventured.The girl crossed her arms. On her middle fingers she wore matching goldrings with crescent signets. Her eyes glinted darkly like a crow’s. (I can makethat comparison because I invented crows.)“Don’t thank me,” she said. “You’re still in my alley.”She walked a full circle around me, scrutinizing my appearance as if I were aprize cow. (I can also make that comparison, because I used to collect prizecows.)“You’re the god Apollo?” She sounded less than awestruck. She also didn’tseem fazed by the idea of gods walking among mortals.“You were listening, then?”She nodded. “You don’t look like a god.”“I’m not at my best,” I admitted. “My father, Zeus, has exiled me fromOlympus. And who are you?”She smelled faintly of apple pie, which was surprising, since she looked sogrubby. Part of me wanted to find a fresh towel, clean her face, and give hermoney for a hot meal. Part of me wanted to fend her off with a chair in case shedecided to bite me. She reminded me of the strays my sister was alwaysadopting: dogs, panthers, homeless maidens, small dragons.“Name is Meg,” she said.“Short for Megara? Or Margaret?”“Margaret. But don’t ever call me Margaret.”“And are you a demigod, Meg?”She pushed up her glasses. “Why would you think that?”Again she didn’t seem surprised by the question. I sensed she had heard theterm demigod before.“Well,” I said, “you obviously have some power. You chased off thosehooligans with rotten fruit. Perhaps you have banana-kinesis? Or you can controlgarbage? I once knew a Roman goddess, Cloacina, who presided over the city’ssewer system. Perhaps you’re related ?”Meg pouted. I got the impression I might have said something wrong, thoughI couldn’t imagine what.“I think I’ll just take your money,” Meg said. “Go on. Get out of here.”“No, wait!” Desperation crept into my voice. “Please, I—I may need a bit ofassistance.”

I felt ridiculous, of course. Me—the god of prophecy, plague, archery,healing, music, and several other things I couldn’t remember at the moment—asking a colorfully dressed street urchin for help. But I had no one else. If thischild chose to take my money and kick me into the cruel winter streets, I didn’tthink I could stop her.“Say I believe you ” Meg’s voice took on a singsong tone, as if she wereabout to announce the rules of the game: I’ll be the princess, and you’ll be thescullery maid. “Say I decide to help. What then?”Good question, I thought. “We we are in Manhattan?”“Mm-hmm.” She twirled and did a playful skip-kick. “Hell’s Kitchen.”It seemed wrong for a child to say Hell’s Kitchen. Then again, it seemedwrong for a child to live in an alley and have garbage fights with thugs.I considered walking to the Empire State Building. That was the moderngateway to Mount Olympus, but I doubted the guards would let me up to thesecret six hundredth floor. Zeus would not make it so easy.Perhaps I could find my old friend Chiron the centaur. He had a trainingcamp on Long Island. He could offer me shelter and guidance. But that would bea dangerous journey. A defenseless god makes for a juicy target. Any monsteralong the way would cheerfully disembowel me. Jealous spirits and minor godsmight also welcome the opportunity. Then there was Cade and Mikey’smysterious “boss.” I had no idea who he was, or whether he had other, worseminions to send against me.Even if I made it to Long Island, my new mortal eyes might not be able tofind Chiron’s camp in its magically camouflaged valley. I needed a guide to getme there—someone experienced and close by .“I have an idea.” I stood as straight as my injuries allowed. It wasn’t easy tolook confident with a bloody nose and coffee grounds dripping off my clothes. “Iknow someone who might help. He lives on the Upper East Side. Take me tohim, and I shall reward you.”Meg made a sound between a sneeze and a laugh. “Reward me with what?”She danced around, plucking twenty-dollar bills from the trash. “I’m alreadytaking all your money.”“Hey!”She tossed me my wallet, now empty except for Lester Papadopoulos’sjunior driver’s license.Meg sang, “I’ve got your money, I’ve got your money.”I stifled a growl. “Listen, child, I won’t be mortal forever. Someday I willbecome a god again. Then I will reward those who helped me—and punish thosewho didn’t.”

She put her hands on her hips. “How do you know what will happen? Haveyou ever been mortal before?”“Yes, actually. Twice! Both times, my punishment only lasted a few years atmost!”“Oh, yeah? And how did you get back to being all goddy or whatever?”“Goddy is not a word,” I pointed out, though my poetic sensibilities werealready thinking of ways I might use it. “Usually Zeus requires me to work as aslave for some important demigod. This fellow uptown I mentioned, forinstance. He’d be perfect! I do whatever tasks my new master requires for a fewyears. As long as I behave, I am allowed back to Olympus. Right now I just haveto recover my strength and figure out—”“How do you know for sure which demigod?”I blinked. “What?”“Which demigod you’re supposed to serve, dummy.”“I uh. Well, it’s usually obvious. I just sort of run into them. That’s why Iwant to get to the Upper East Side. My new master will claim my service and—”“I’m Meg McCaffrey!” Meg blew me a raspberry. “And I claim yourservice!”Overhead, thunder rumbled in the gray sky. The sound echoed through thecity canyons like divine laughter.Whatever was left of my pride turned to ice water and trickled into my socks.“I walked right into that, didn’t I?”“Yep!” Meg bounced up and down in her red sneakers. “We’re going to havefun!”With great difficulty, I resisted the urge to weep. “Are you sure you’re notArtemis in disguise?”“I’m that other thing,” Meg said, counting my money. “The thing you saidbefore. A demigod.”“How do you know?”“Just do.” She gave me a smug smile. “And now I have a sidekick godnamed Lester!”I raised my face to the heavens. “Please, Father, I get the point. Please, Ican’t do this!”Zeus did not answer. He was probably too busy recording my humiliation toshare on Snapchat.“Cheer up,” Meg told me. “Who’s that guy you wanted to see—the guy onthe Upper East Side?”“Another demigod,” I said. “He knows the way to a camp where I might findshelter, guidance, food—”

“Food?” Meg’s ears perked up almost as much as the points on her glasses.“Good food?”“Well, normally I just eat ambrosia, but, yes, I suppose.”“Then that’s my first order! We’re going to find this guy to take us to thecamp place!”I sighed miserably. It was going to be a very long servitude.“As you wish,” I said. “Let’s find Percy Jackson.”

Used to be goddyNow uptown feeling shoddyBah, haiku don’t rhymeAS WE TRUDGED up Madison Avenue, my mind swirled with questions:Why hadn’t Zeus given me a winter coat? Why did Percy Jackson live so faruptown? Why did pedestrians keep staring at me?I wondered if my divine radiance was starting to return. Perhaps the NewYorkers were awed by my obvious power and unearthly good looks.Meg McCaffrey set me straight.“You smell,” she said. “You look like you’ve just been mugged.”“I have just been mugged. Also enslaved by a small child.”“It’s not slavery.” She chewed off a piece of her thumb cuticle and spit it out.“It’s more like mutual cooperation.”“Mutual in the sense that you give orders and I am forced to cooperate?”“Yep.” She stopped in front of a storefront window. “See? You look gross.”My reflection stared back at me, except it was not my reflection. It couldn’tbe. The face was the same as on Lester Papadopoulos’s ID.I looked about sixteen. My medium-length hair was dark and curly—a style Ihad rocked in Athenian times, and again in the 1970s. My eyes were blue. Myface was pleasing enough in a dorkish way, but it was marred by a swolleneggplant-colored nose, which had dripped a gruesome mustache of blood downmy upper lip. Even worse, my cheeks were covered with some sort of rash thatlooked suspiciously like My heart climbed into my throat.“Horrors!” I cried. “Is that—Is that acne?”Immortal gods do not get acne. It is one of our inalienable rights. Yet Ileaned closer to the glass and saw that my skin was indeed a scarred landscapeof whiteheads and pustules.

I balled my fists and wailed to the cruel sky, “Zeus, what have I done todeserve this?”Meg tugged at my sleeve. “You’re going to get yourself arrested.”“What does it matter? I have been made a teenager, and not even one withperfect skin! I bet I don’t even have ” With a cold sense of dread, I lifted myshirt. My midriff was covered with a floral pattern of bruises from my fall intothe Dumpster and my subsequent kicking. But even worse, I had flab.“Oh, no, no, no.” I staggered around the sidewalk, hoping the flab would notfollow me. “Where are my eight-pack abs? I always have eight-pack abs. I neverhave love handles. Never in four thousand years!”Meg made another snorting laugh. “Sheesh, crybaby, you’re fine.”“I’m fat!”“You’re average. Average people don’t have eight-pack abs. C’mon.”I wanted to protest that I was not average nor a person, but with growingdespair, I realized the term now fit me perfectly.On the other side of the storefront window, a security guard’s face loomed,scowling at me. I allowed Meg to pull me farther down the street.She skipped along, occasionally stopping to pick up a coin or swing herselfaround a streetlamp. The child seemed unfazed by the cold weather, thedangerous journey ahead, and the fact that I was suffering from acne.“How are you so calm?” I demanded. “You are a demigod, walking with agod, on your way to a camp to meet others of your kind. Doesn’t any of thatsurprise you?”“Eh.” She folded one of my twenty-dollar bills into a paper airplane. “I’veseen a bunch of weird stuff.”I was tempted to ask what could be weirder than the morning we had justhad. I decided I might not be able to stand the stress of knowing. “Where are youfrom?”“I told you. The alley.”“No, but your parents? Family? Friends?”A ripple of discomfort passed over her face. She returned her attention to hertwenty-dollar airplane. “Not important.”My highly advanced people-reading skills told me she was hiding something,but that was not unusual for demigods. For children blessed with an immortalparent, they were strangely sensitive about their backgrounds. “And you’venever heard of Camp Half-Blood? Or Camp Jupiter?”“Nuh-uh.” She tested the airplane’s point on her fingertip. “How muchfarther to Perry’s house?”“Percy’s. I’m not sure. A few more blocks I think.”

That seemed to satisfy Meg. She hopscotched ahead, throwing the cashairplane and retrieving it. She cartwheeled through the intersection at EastSeventy-Second Street—her clothes a flurry of traffic-light colors so bright Iworried the drivers might get confused and run her down. Fortunately, New Yorkdrivers were used to swerving around oblivious pedestrians.I decided Meg must be a feral demigod. They were rare but not unheard of.Without any support network, without being discovered by other demigods ortaken in for proper training, she had still managed to survive. But her luck wouldnot last. Monsters usually began hunting down and killing young heroes aroundthe time they turned thirteen, when their true powers began to manifest. Meg didnot have long. She needed to be brought to Camp Half-Blood as much as I did.She was fortunate to have met me.(I know that last statement seems obvious. Everyone who meets me isfortunate, but you take my meaning.)Had I been my usual omniscient self, I could have gleaned Meg’s destiny. Icould have looked into her soul and seen all I needed to know about her godlyparentage, her powers, her motives and secrets.Now I was blind to such things. I could only be sure she was a demigodbecause she had successfully claimed my service. Zeus had affirmed her rightwith a clap of thunder. I felt the binding upon me like a shroud of tightlywrapped banana peels. Whoever Meg McCaffrey was, however she hadhappened to find me, our fates were now intertwined.It was almost as embarrassing as the acne.We turned east on Eighty-Second Street.By the time we reached Second Avenue, the neighborhood started to lookfamiliar—rows of apartment buildings, hardware shops, convenience stores, andIndian restaurants. I knew that Percy Jackson lived around here somewhere, butmy trips across the sky in the sun chariot had given me something of a GoogleEarth orientation. I wasn’t used to traveling at street level.Also, in this mortal form, my flawless memory had become flawed. Mortalfears and needs clouded my thoughts. I wanted to eat. I wanted to use therestroom. My body hurt. My clothes stank. I felt as if my brain had been stuffedwith wet cotton. Honestly, how do you humans stand it?After a few more blocks, a mixture of sleet and rain began to fall. Meg triedto catch the precipitation on her tongue, which I thought a very ineffective wayto get a drink—and of dirty water, no less. I shivered and concentrated on happythoughts: the Bahamas, the Nine Muses in perfect harmony, the many horriblepunishments I would visit on Cade and Mikey when I became a god again.I still wondered about their boss, and how he had known where I would fall

to earth. No mortal could’ve had that knowledge. In fact, the more I thoughtabout it, I didn’t see how even a god (other than myself) could have foreseen thefuture so accurately. After all, I had been the god of prophecy, master of theOracle of Delphi, distributor of the highest quality sneak previews of destiny formillennia.Of course, I had no shortage of enemies. One of the natural consequences ofbeing so awesome is that I attracted envy from

Also by Rick Riordan Percy Jackson and the Olympians Book One: The Lightning Thief Book Two: The Sea of Monsters Book Three: The Titan’s Curse Book Four: The Battle of the Labyrinth Book Five: The Last Olympian The Demigod Files Percy Jackson’s Greek Gods, illustrated by John Rocc